


it's okay, oh, it's always okay

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hugging, Insecure Derek Hale, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Just as Derek was going to push himself into standing, Stiles whispered, “Stay with me, Der,” and Derek couldn’t move a single muscle.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 41
Kudos: 180





	it's okay, oh, it's always okay

**Author's Note:**

> Found this sitting in my docs & MASSIVELY cleaned it up! Please excuse any tense slip ups - I did not have it in me to go over this again, lmao. It was super fun to see how much my writing has grown in the last few years!

The pack meeting had been long, maybe even too long tonight—there was a lot to be thankful for. Firstly everyone was still alive, and secondly, nothing too horrible was happening. Why wouldn't they all sit around and play video games and have a blast? They all deserved it, after all. 

For Derek, the pack meeting was long for a different reason. Derek liked Scott, actually he secretly adored him (though he would never say it) the Alpha. Scott was a strong Alpha with really good instincts and only lacked self-confidence. Derek didn’t mind being a beta, in fact, it had  _ never _ bothered him. He liked to take direction, and he wasn’t always the best at making the right choice. His moral ground as a little grey, after all. 

If Scott could step up more, accept more, it would be so much easier. When he took the Alpha spark from his uncle, Derek really did try to put it to good use. Helped scared or hurt kids get out of horrible situations, or find the confidence to flourish, because that’s what he had done. Derek wasn’t an Alpha anymore, but he still found himself picking up Scott’s slack.

Derek locked the fifth and final lock on the door and sighed, under his breath. It was always hard when the pack left. It had never been easy being on his own, but just having people around him made him realize just how lonely he had always  _ felt. _

Derek wasn’t sure he would say he was surprised to find Stiles sound asleep against the pillow. He always fell asleep if there was cuddling, and they had been curled together before the pack had decided to head out. Quietly, Derek made his way across the loft and let himself fall onto the couch with a groan. 

He was sore from sitting around, though he knew it was mostly in his head. Being a werewolf did have its perks, after all. Stiles made a soft noise as Derek got comfortable beside him, and he considered getting back up. Mother Moon knew that Stiles didn’t sleep enough, and Derek would have hated to pull him from his slumber. 

Only, Stiles didn’t stir, not completely, and instead, he mumbled Derek’s name in his sleep. Derek kept listening, feeling guilty for witnessing something private but not having the willpower to make himself leave when it was  _ Stiles _ that was whispering his name. 

Just as Derek was  _ going _ to push himself into standing, really, Stiles whispered, “Stay with me, Der,” and Derek couldn’t move a single muscle. 

* * *

“Derek, oh god” Stiles laughed as he slowly woke up, trying to push the older—and much heavier—man off him(but really not trying at all). Derek was sprawled on top of him and was a heavy weight on his chest. 

Stiles couldn't exactly remember how he had gotten like this, a giant werewolf sleeping half on top of him, his face tucked up under his chin, breathing softly onto his chest. Stiles could feel Derek's heartbeat too; it was steady, calm even. It was nice. And Stiles had no fucking clue what this meant, but hey, he hadn't had coffee yet so no need to analyze it. Wait, was it even morning? Huh, morning enough. 

He was still tired, not quite fully awake, and he could feel himself being pulled back into partial sleep. He was trying to remember his dream, because they had been  _ dreams _ and they hadn't been nightmares and it had been a very, very long time since that had happened. He knew it had been pleasant, he just couldn't remember about what, which was fine if not a little disappointing. 

It was when Stiles could feel Derek's heartbeat speed up, his warm puffs of breath becoming shorter that he was pulled back into full consciousness. He kept his eyes closed but smiled when he heard Derek sniff and rub his cheek against Stiles. The noise he made was soft, more of a rumble in his throat but it was definitely content. Stiles knew Derek was happy, really happy actually, because Stiles had never seen him this calm before. 

It was nice, lying with Derek like this. He let his slowly open and looked down to see one of Derek’s cheeks flushed red with a crease from Stiles’ cheek impressed into his skin. And yeah, maybe Stiles was looking now, staring really. In his defence, he was seventeen and Derek Hale was amazingly hot and literally lying on him. 

Only then he wasn't. He was standing, backing away, his eyes wide with—fear maybe? And Stiles couldn't feel anything but how empty he felt. The loss of weight felt wrong, unnatural and he was also cold, colder than he should have been, anyway.

Derek was panicking. He had only meant to sit on the couch for a while, not fall asleep on Stiles. 

“I-...” Derek started, but he trailed off into nothing quickly.

Derek was not good with words. Derek knew he wasn’t good with words and he didn’t know how to express what his feelings were to a human. There was no pack bond to send feeling through, no way for Stiles to tell by scent, and that frustrated Derek more than he liked. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, upset. “Sorry.”

Derek couldn't even meet Stiles' eyes. Refused to, actually, as he remembered the night before. Remembered the way Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch, the way Stiles had insisted that he stay—and that he had. He also remembered the unyielding need to scent Stiles, how in not doing so he nearly suffocated himself because he knew he couldn't stop himself if he were to start and he didn’t need that in front of the pack. He did not, however, know what that meant. 

Which made him mad, angry but with himself. Why couldn't he just hate Stiles again? He was still an annoying shit, but now he was an annoying shit that Derek cared about and that... well that scared Derek—a lot. So of course instead of explaining anything he just drew his eyebrows together with a scowl already formed (because his face just did it sometimes) and crossed his arms. This was safe. It was a safe position and he knew his face was unreadable and that it wouldn't give anything away. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked softly and no... Derek was not expecting that. He was expecting Stiles to yell, actually. Or at least hateful words. He was saying hateful words to himself because, well, because! Stiles was young and he was barely conscious and Derek took advantage of that. He’d fallen asleep on Stiles after Stiles had just asked him to stay. 

Even if he could barely think it without his brain imploding, he had wanted to sleep with Stiles. Wanted to keep him warm, cover his body with his own so he would be safe (also a little so he would smell like him the next day). But Stiles hadn’t been awake to agree to that, and even though Derek hadn’t done it on purpose, he had still taken advantage of him. 

“I... you were...” Derek took a deep breath and swallowed heavily, not wanting to admit the next part. “You were unconscious?” It was a question that Stiles tilted his head to, but Derek didn’t know what that meant. “I shouldn't have, I shou—I should have left.”

Stiles made a noise like a growl, frustrated. Derek wouldn’t even  _ look _ at him and how the hell was he supposed to answer that? What did that even mean? Not conscious? “When was I not conscious?”

Derek's Adam’s apple bobbed, His eyes went wide then narrowed into slits because he didn't understand Stiles’ question any more than Stiles had gotten his. “I hadn’t meant to, but. You were sleeping.”

Stiles tilted his head further to the side, only more confused. He’d woken up with a crick in his next and adjusted himself, his feet knocking against Derek’s legs. Stiles had pulled Derek down into a more comfortable position to cuddle, since Derek would’ve been sore from sleeping sitting up. 

“You asked me... you, uh, asked me...”  _ Fuck  _ this was hard but he could feel Stiles staring at him and he knew the boy expected an answer. So Derek steeled himself, closing himself off, compartmentalizing because he was good at that. “When you asked me to stay.”

At that Stiles cocked his head to the side, his face growing even more confused. Because he  _ had _ been conscious. He remembered asking Derek to stay. He even remembered how his chest swelled when Derek finally laid down, long minutes later, not really saying anything but finally breathing in. Stiles remembered all of it actually, especially how right it felt when Derek held him, how he fit against him so nicely, snuggled up with him on the couch. 

He also remembered how Derek had stopped breathing but had no idea why. 

“Why do you think I was unconscious?” was Stiles’ stilted answer, because if he had learned anything, it was that Derek Hale was a fucking puzzle and nothing about this made any sort of sense, but that somewhere inside of him he really wanted to figure it out. It seemed important, if only for the way Derek looked so scared.

Derek could see Stiles watching him still, confusion rolling off him in waves, almost too much to handle. Why did he not understand? How did he not understand? Was it not simple? “Well, why else would you?”

Stiles’ scent flared with hurt, and Derek watched him hunch forward. “I’m sorry. We were cuddling during the movie night. I didn’t think you would mind and... I didn’t want you sleeping sitting up.”

Stiles was watching Derek watch him, and he could tell the werewolf was confused. He was still standing hunched over, which made Stiles ache. “What are you talking about?”

“Uhm last night? When I woke up and pulled you down to cuddle.”

Derek’s eyebrows did something very complicated. Derek's heart sped. He blew out a harsh breath, lips forming an 'o', and he just looked down at his hands. Because how was he supposed to—how could he—ugh! Stiles remembered what happened? 

Stiles’ heartbeat kicked up too. Oh god, he had done something wrong, hadn’t he? It took Stiles several moments to settle, and he did his best to ignore the way he was slightly panicking as he looked at Derek. 

God, what did he do?

The smell of anxiety and fear and loneliness filled the room to the point where Derek had to breathe in quick, shallow breaths through his mouth. Derek saw when Stiles decided what to do, watching his eyes stop scanning the floor, his jaw set into place. He stood up and looked at Derek. Looked at him in a way that made Derek look back. Their eyes held each other and Derek was getting the feeling again, in the pit of his stomach that made no sense and wasn't unpleasant, wasn't unpleasant at all. When Stiles stepped forward, Derek was surprised, and when Stiles stepped forward again, he was in shock. 

Derek had turned when he backed out earlier, shifting himself to the right, away from the direction of the door. Stiles wasn't going towards the door, though... he was going towards Derek. 

Stiles had absolutely no idea what he was doing. At all. In fact, he was terrified. His hands were shaking badly, so badly he had to press them against his thighs. He told them to shut up but his fingers had never been much in his control. He didn't know how to answer Derek's question but knew he wasn't going to do it from the couch—because he thought Derek would believe it more if it was up close. 

When he got within reaching distance his heart was pounding and Stiles could swear he was sweating in places he didn't even have sweat glands. Because what the hell was he doing? Well who the hell knew, Stiles thought, because it sure wasn't him. Before he could stop himself he reached out, intending to grab Derek's hand, but he still had no control over his fingers and ended up placing two in the centre of Derek's chest. He could see Derek tense and pull his muscles in; ready to pounce. And okay, ouch, but he didn't drop his hand. 

Instead, he flattened it against Derek's chest, firmly holding his palm there. Stiles had no idea what he was doing, was mostly just rolling with what his body was telling him to do. Which was scary because his body was telling him to touch Derek Hale. It wasn't as strong as last night, not as much as a heaving need that he could hardly express. 

Derek's eyes never left Stiles but he looked like he wanted to run. To get away. And Derek, because now it smelled like need, and want, and those were two things he had never gotten from Stiles before, or at least not this strong. His whole body was burning, heat spreading out from where Stiles' hand—his gorgeous beautiful hand—was placed on his chest. 

Derek's mind was slowly going blank again because, well, because! He wanted,  _ needed, _ to touch Stiles back. He didn't know how  _ why _ he needed to and that. That would always be the problem, he thought. And always? When had he thought that before? Had Derek been wanting to touch Stiles for so long that he’d gotten numb to it? That the want didn’t even register for him any more? 

“I uh, had a really bad day yesterday,” Stiles was chuckling but the noise had no humour in it. It was a hollow sound but his hand never moved, and the pressure didn't lessen, either. “I... oh God. I wanted... no, I needed, to, uh—to feel safe?”

At the last word, Stiles dropped his eyes suddenly becoming interested with his feet. Derek didn't dare look away. He still hadn't ruled this out as a dream, but he could never focus this well in dreams, and being able to count Stiles; eyelashes was helping (thank you werewolf eyes). And God, did Derek need to focus. The urge to just hold Stiles was more than he knew he could suppress, not that he was letting himself feel it, but his wolf had never needed something like this, hadn't itched at the back of his mind like this in a long, long time. 

He wanted to run, to leave and never come back. But Stiles' hand was still there, still unwavering in pressure. If it wasn't, Derek didn't think he would have lasted. He knew his face must look ridiculous, knew he was blushing but... so was Stiles.

“But why...” Fuck, this was going to be harder than Derek thought. The next word came out barely a whisper, because he didn't know if he could handle the answer. “Me?”

Derek could see the shift in Stiles, see the anger shoot into his body just from the way he leaned inward, could see the hurt in his eyes. And, shit, now his hands were in his hair and not on Derek, and Derek couldn't handle the emptiness he felt every time they stopped touching. Something, a noise, left his lips before he could bite it down. 

Stiles was trying to form a thought, pulling at his hair then at the air, as if he could pull the words from it. 

“What, Der—fuck!” Stiles shouted, before he was suddenly closer, in what Derek considered his personal space since Stiles had a very different concept of personal space than the sour wolf all but cowering in front of him. 

Stiles was angry and Derek didn’t know what he did. He just knew he wanted to hold Stiles but he also wanted to cry for hurting him. And that made zero sense because—well it just didn't. Derek had never felt this way before; never so conflicted. He was shocked into the now when Stiles punched his arm, and ok, it didn't really hurt but it  _ was _ shocking. 

Before Derek could react Stiles was turning away, near running out of the apartment and Derek made a noise that sounded like a whimper—there was no getting around it. It was his wolf crying out and he couldn't keep it down and it made Stiles stop in his tracks. His smelt like guilt but the hurt was stronger, and Derek felt the urge to curl into himself before he was, shoulders coming close and arms wrapping up to hold himself together. 

Wen Stiles stopped it wasn't because he wanted to. No. He didn't. Who was Derek fucking Hale for leading him on anyway? Who was he for playing Stiles for a fool? Making him think... making him think that Derek liked him? So when he turned back it wasn't because he wanted to, it was because the noise Derek made caused his body to do that on its own, with no permission from Stiles. 

But then Derek was there, hunched up, holding himself as he curled inwards. His eyes were glossy and he was sure he saw a tear leave and—it made no sense. It made no sense at all and if there was one thing about Stiles that was always true... well it was that he always needed an answer. He needed information like he needed to breathe, he always needed to  _ know. _ So when he marched back it was specifically to order an explanation—to yell and say hurtful things because Stiles was feeling hurtful things. 

“Don't—Stiles, please don’t,” Derek said as Stiles was opening his mouth to talk, but that got him to shut it quickly. Derek was glad because he no longer smelt hurt, just anger. An overwhelming anger that made Derek want to curl up, even more, hide from Stiles and not because of him... but because right now Stiles was scary—honest to god scary. And he was mad, loathing actually, and it was because of Derek and Derek didn't know why, just knew it was his fault.

Of course, Stiles didn't stay silent for long and each word slapped Derek, forced him to cry before because fuck, of course he was crying right now. Derek did not cry in front of other people, barely cried to himself, had no idea why he was crying now. He just knew, knew somehow that Stiles leaving would be the worst thing to ever happen to him, and yeah, he meant that. 

His wolf was whining at him and snapping at his human self for being such an idiot, for making Stiles, who he cared about more than anyone alive, so angry with him. Derek didn’t know what he had done but he didn’t care, his wolf didn’t care, they hurt his...

Derek hurt his  _ mate. _

“Why the hell would you do that to me?” Stiles was pissed but he was getting a lot of mixed signals and it made him even madder. “You can't lead someone in like that!”

Derek was crying and every single part of Stiles wanted to reach out, to just hold him close until this was all over, but... no. If nearly dying multiple times had taught him anything, it was that he was worth something, somehow. “I thought you liked me!”

A new expression slowly melted over the silent torment on Derek’s face, and suddenly he looked... well, as confused as he'd ever looked before. Tears were still sluggishly falling from his eyes but he tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows shot up because.... what?

“I... I do?” Derek managed, but he has to say the rest quieter, almost hoping Stiles doesn't hear him. “But I know you don't like me. Why would you want  _ me _ when you’re having a bad day?”

Suddenly Stiles was in his space again, yelling at Derek and he stood on his toes to make up the few inch height difference, easier now because Derek was still holding himself hunched forward, trying to keep himself in one piece. 

But Stiles also had no idea what was going on, because... what? Seriously, what? There was  _ no _ way he had heard Derek right! 

“But then... then why d-did you...” Stiles left out a frustrated groan which bordered on a growl—an actual growl—as he tried to put words together. “You left! You jumped up and you looked so upset, like you hated that you had slept beside me and... when I said I wanted you after a bad day, you practically scoffed! You asked why I would need  _ you!” _

_ “ _ I knew you wouldn't want me,” Derek said simply. 

Wait... woah. That made Stiles step back because Derek said that confidently, not... not pleased, but like he knew that with certainty. Knew that was the reason.  _ Honest to God _ thought that Stiles didn't want Derek—didn't like him. 

“You fucking idiot!” Stiles shouted, before he hit Derek on the arm again, only gently. He’d never try to  _ hurt _ Derek, but he needed the man to understand and Derek always seemed to communicate through touch better. “I asked you to stay! I pulled you down onto the couch with me!'

Stiles could see the words register, could watch Derek process them, decipher them, try to understand what he meant. Derek said nothing. For a long time. So Stiles said, “I knew who I was asking. I wasn’t totally awake, sure, but we’d spent all night cuddled together with the pack, Der.”

Derek was quiet again. It was frustrating when he couldn't think of the words he wanted, when they left his head, because they did that a lot. So he just repeated what he said before, since it was easier and Stiles never answered. “But why me?”

This time, Stiles got it. He wasn't asking because he didn't like Stiles, he was asking because he didn't think Stiles liked  _ him. _ And oh, that made more sense. Well not really, because why would Stiles not like him? Did Derek really not see that Stiles had liked him for weeks, months even? Who could he not see that? 

“Because you fuck wad,” and yeah maybe the language wasn't needed but Stiles knew Derek hated when he swore and he knew it would make him listen, “I've liked you for months.” 

Maybe years, he thought, but didn’t say.

Stiles could see that Derek didn’t understand, didn’t know what the words meant, the weight they carried. So Stiles did the only thing he can, the only thing he can think might work. He grabbed Derek's hands in his own, both of them, pulling them away from where they had been hugging himself, and then he let go again and... Derek felt as if his whole body had been doused in ice and then immediately doused in fire because Stiles just stepped closer, not breaking eye contact until he had his hand behind Derek’s back, reaching out to him. 

Suddenly Derek was pulled forward, forcing their bodies together, and Stiles was gripping the back of his shirt like he might fly away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And... oh. Derek's body felt alive after so long of feeling dead. He was literally vibrating, and he was sure Stiles could feel how he convulses, his body spasming but, almost like a miracle, Stiles didn’t let go. 

In fact, he began to hold on tighter. 

Stiles... was hugging him?

Derek became overly aware of Stiles’ head, where it was laying partly in his shoulder, partly on his chest, and he was somehow, impossibly, looking up at Derek which meant that Derek could feel breath against the inside of his neck. He felt Stiles all along him the heat that came with that. And he couldn’t move, and it felt like he didn’t know how all of a sudden. 

He stood like that for what felt like an eternity but Stiles knew it was only minutes, and his whole body was shaking and it felt weird and hot and a million other things. He could feel Derek shaking, knew he was too, but he just rested his head, never taking his eyes off his face, which was a bit complicated but a little bit worth it when Derek looked down at him and his breath caught. 

Stiles didn’t want to let go, didn’t even know if he could, but he wanted to be held, he needed it, and somehow Derek realized that. Maybe it's his scent, Stiles thought, but suddenly he hah arms wrapped around himself too, and they're big and comforting and felt so right that his knees gave out, but Derek just kept holding him, supporting the two of them, and Stiles was more than okay with that. He made a giddy noise from the back of his throat at the thought of being held by Derek, because shit... Derek felt so good. 

Then he pulled back so he could look at Derek, and when Derek went to let go he just held on tighter, pressing his fingers against Derek's back. Derek seemed to understand this, since he pulled Stiles back in, holding him like he was being held—desperately. Like either one may slip away, or that they may wake up from a dream. 

Stiles pushed back enough so he could look at Derek, study his face, look into his eyes and... fuck. They were red and swollen from crying and Stiles was suddenly aware that it was his fault for misinterpreting Derek. His eyes began to burn too, feeling so bad for causing Derek pain, but then Derek loosened his hold so he tightened  _ his _ and Derek did the same. Stiles is realized, all at once, that Derek had been constantly asking permission. Making sure it was still okay that he was there, that he was still wanted there, and Stiles needed to say something but didn't know what. 

It came to him as he looked up at Derek, really looked at him in a way that he hadn’t before that he decided on the words. He mulled over a few ideas, and was pretty content when he said, “I really, really need you to kiss me, if that's okay?”

And yeah, Stiles found out, it was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Next week this work will be backdated to March 22nd 2017 - that means I wrote this nearly four years ago and **it will not be continued**. 
> 
> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> kudos aren’t the same as getting a comment, not even close. so a comment, as short and sweet or as sprawling and sporadic as you can manage, would be _greatly_ appreciated! don't know what to comment? how about _”this was great!”_ or _“awesome work!”_


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